The Girl he Left Behind
by Lostand1TreeHillfan
Summary: AU/LP. The once silver wedding band is now just a mesh of dried blood. His eyes continued its ascent up towards his face, and even behind it’s scratches, bandages, and bruises, I know he can still tell it's himself.
1. Prologue: Intro to Death

_**A/N:** Okay, so this is something very, very different than anything I have ever wrote/read. I'm going to be telling this story in Death's POV. Yes. You heard right, Death. I hope I didn't scare you away yet. It's just like another story, just adding a little twist to it. You'll see, and I guarantee you will like it…I hope. _

_Some of this may get confusing, but I'll try my best to explain it if you need it. This is Deaths POV. But you will notice that some things may seem like its being told differently. You'll notice it, but if you have any question, just ask. _

_P.S. THIS IS A LUCAS/PEYTON STORY!!!_

* * *

**the girl he left behind…**

He didn't mean it.

She wasn't supposed to be that girl. He wasn't supposed to _make_ her become _that_ girl.

But maybe it was written in the stars, just like he said it was. He always told her that their kind of love was written in the stars.

_That's one of the things that drew me toward them. I may be dead, but I know a good love story when I see it. Need some examples? Does Romeo and Juliet ring a bell? How about Napoleon and Josephine? No? What about Jack and Rose from Titanic, and Landon and Jamie from A Walk to Remember? (Even if they arn't real, you'll get my point.)_

_Name the one thing that tears them apart from getting their life long happy ever after._

_I'll give you a clue. Me. That's right, Death._

_But anyway, I never believed in finding solace in the stars. I mean, who could blame me. I take away people's hope into finding some kind of peace in this world. I tried so hard to stay away for as long as I could, but I couldn't stay away any longer. It had to happen. One way or another. And I know they knew that. Whether they wanted to or not, they couldn't be together forever. I am proof of that._

_I watch him now, hearing his thoughts. He can't see me. No, I think. Not yet, he's not ready. And I'll respect that- for now._

Fate had always been so cruel to them. But this, he thinks, has got to take the cake. It's sick. Cruel. Downright disgusting. And he has to watch it all. Even now, he sees it. Looking at her now- right this very instant, he's forced to see what she's become.

He can't breath anymore, as he watches her slowly fall to the ground, he can't seem to hear anything other than heaps of sobs, and gasping of breath coming from in between her once beautiful lips. Lips that are now almost colorless, and greatly chapped from dehydration.

He can only watch helplessly as her best friend tries to comfort her, bringing her into a close hug, only to be roughly pushed away. Her cries are becoming more ear piercing, but it seems only to him. Her best friend tries once again to hold the women in her arms. This time she welcomes the little comfort she can get. Grasping onto her for dear life her cries are slightly muffled by the friends shoulder. But only slightly.

He tries to grasp onto a nearby wall, but can't seem to do it. He falls to the floor as his own sobs begin to rack his body. He begins to dry heave, not being able to stomach the hurt he caused her. It's his fault, he thinks, as he continues to heave, its all his fault.

She never asked for this. He should have stayed away. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he loved her. He's _in_ love with her. Still, even now.

His heaves stop as he collapses to the floor. He doesn't seem to notice the people walking over him. He can still hear her cries, but they are becoming softer. He turns his head back into the direction the sobs once were. He sees his brother and her best friend carrying her out of the room, and eventually down the hallway, and out the door.

He begins to take deep breaths, trying to stand back up. He grabs the nearby bed; getting the leverage he needs and finds his way on his feet. He holds onto the railing of the bed looking down towards his feet, willing himself not to look at the person lying on the bed. But he can't _not_ look.

Slowly, but surly his eyes gaze up the crevasses of the white sheets. His eyes slowly travel higher, to where the sheets become a wet crimson color. He has to stop for a second. Staring down at the cool color of red, then following the path of the drop to his bloodied hand. His left hand. The once silver wedding band is now just a mesh of dried blood. His stare worked its way up his bruised, scratched arm, to his shoulder. It was clearly popped out of place, due to its deformity. His eyes continued its ascent up towards his face, briefly stopping to gaze at his practically ill slit neck. Swallowing back the vomit, which seemed to surprisingly work its way up his throat, he gazed at the face.

Even behind it's scratches, bandages, and bruises, I know he can still tell it's himself. But the man he is looking at is a lot paler then he remembered himself. He looks at the rest of his body; all bandaged just like his face. The blood seems to be working its way through the gauze because his chest is practically all red.

The poor boy has been so pre-occupied, I don't think he sees the doctor come into the room, and turn off the ventilator. I hear a sudden yell in protest. _I guess he did notice after all. _The beeping begins to slow, and soon altogether become one annoying buzzing sound I've heard all to often. The man is now pacing and trying to get the doctors attention, but he goes unnoticed. I can tell this makes him frustrated. Once the doctor left the room, the man marches over to himself. He's fuming, I can tell. The tears are making their way out of his eyes. He begins murmuring something in which I can't quite hear. Something like, _No! This can't be happening. Or something about being a selfish ass... _Wait! Yes, it was the latter.

He startles me when begins hitting his body in the chest area. Over and over again. _This can't be the end. No. He won't leave his family, not now. God, please not now._ Slamming his fists harder onto his chest, as the tears begin to fall faster. "Breath damn it!" He calls to himself, over and over. She can't become _that_ woman. No, he won't allow it. Not after everything they went through, fought tooth and nail for. He won't go down without a fight. He can't let her do this by herself; no she can't be _that_ woman. He loves her too much for her to be forever known as _that_. But he knows; deep, deep down he knows she already is.

...She's the girl he left behind.


	2. Whiskey Lullaby

Story starts to jump around a lot here. I tried to make it as simple as possible to follow. (Last chapter was present time.)

**Chapter 1: Whiskey Lullaby**

**About 1 Year Ago…**

He never wanted it to come out this way. He can't keep doing this, bringing her down with him. It's his problems he needs to sort out, not hers. He's being selfish by being unselfish…if that makes sense. In his mind it does. And that's what's breaking their relationship. Things have been tense in this house for about two weeks when his contract at the publishing company was dissolved. Now, he finds out there was a boating accident involving his mother, sister, and stepfather Andy.

_*Lets just say I was busy that day…*_

They found them dead three days later.

To say Lucas was devastated would have been the biggest understatement of the year. For about eight days after the accident he didn't say one word to anyone. Not to his best friend, brother, wife, or kids. He simply locked himself in his study, sorting out funeral arrangements, drinking whiskey, writing _(surprisingly, its way to depressing for my taste of literature…), _drinking some more_,_ and other paper work that needed to be done. He didn't sleep, or eat. When he knew everyone in the house was asleep, (he'd often find himself waiting for Peyton, since she never went to sleep until 3, just waiting to see if Lucas would actually come out. She sure didn't want to be the one to miss it.) only then would he quietly make his way out of the house to the nearest 24/7 store. He'd ignore the looks he got from the cashier, putting at least two bottles of hard whiskey onto the counter. He would then proceed home, drinking straight from one of the bottles. He'd tiptoe through the house, up the stairs, and down the hallway to the very end to sit on the windowsill. The moon would shine through the window down the dark hallway, casting his reflection on all five doorways. Starring into the darkness until dawn came, then he would make his way back to the study, and repeat it all again.

There was one incident though… It happened on the third morning. Lucas had raided the alcohol cabinet the night before where he found two bottles of vodka, and a bottle of tequila.

Peyton was just coming up the stairs to check on him, when she heard something that broke her heart to pieces.

On the other side of the door, Lucas was sobbing uncontrollably, his head in his hands sitting at his desk. He didn't know what was happening. He couldn't breathe, he felt dizzy, but felt a crushing pain deep in his chest. A heart attack? No. It was worse. Hate maybe? He didn't really know… Lucas balled up his fists, continuously slamming them down on the table in front of him. Once he figured his hand was good and bruised, he stopped. He began to hear Peyton's terrified, tear-filled voice telling him to stop and let her in. Hearing her so broken made the pain worse. He began sobbing again, looking for anything to take his anger out on. In the corner of his eye, he sees his laptop. He carefully picks it up; it's been the canvas of his art for too many years to count. But his art doesn't matter any more, so what's it still doing here?

He hears Peyton mutter, "Key's" before she races downstairs. She has a spare key to the study, or should he say, had. He took it off her key chain last night. Lucas can hear her wrestle around downstairs. He's still holding the laptop, not sure he has enough in him to crush it. But he changes his mind when he hears their kids begin the cry and scream, "What's wrong with daddy? Is daddy alright? Why is he crying? He's daddy, he's not supposed to cry. Daddy!" He hears them try to make it up the stairs only be scolded by Peyton ordering her oldest, Sawyer _(age 9),_ to take her siblings _(William- age seven, and Anna- age three)_ to their aunt Brookes house. _(They live right next door.)_

There's that pain again. They're right. He can hear them slam the door behind them, just as his heart officially breaks. The alcohol is running over time as he raises the laptop behind him, over his head; with one swift move he throws it across the room and against the wall. The object barley missed the door by inches. He watches it explode to pieces, as pictures on the wall also begin to fall to the floor with a _crash_. Adrenalin pumping, he walks over to the bookshelf, heaving books off the wall shelf-by-shelf.

_*Which I can't imagine is an easy task considering the other three walls are filled floor to ceiling with shelves full of books.*_

With the exception of two windows behind his desk, and a door to the right of it that leads to a small five foot by five foot bathroom, his desk and a couch right next to the main door, its all floor space. But it's quickly covered with the massive amount of books he has collected over his 32 years.

He can't hear anymore, can't think anymore. All he can feel is that pain in his chest. He can't stand to feel it anymore. He paces over to the wall, slamming his right fist into it, creating a hole. He does the same to the left, just in a different spot. Lucas doesn't stop until the knuckles are good and red. But it doesn't work. He still feels it. He begins to dig through the mess to find the one thing that always numbs the pain. He finds the bottle and begins to chug it excessively. He's already had too much, but he can't stop. Once the bottle is good and gone, he chucks it behind him, hearing it shatter against one of the bookcases.

The pain is gone. He collapses against the bathroom doorway, knowing full well the liquid will shortly make its way back up his throat.

It does so faster than he expected and he barley makes it to the toilet before the bile passes his lips. He sits there for a good five minutes contently empting his stomach before he hears a voice in the distance.

"Lucas, open the door man." Nathan? "Lucas come on!" More banging. God, just let it stop. "Lucas! Lucas, open the _fucking_ door!" His voice becomes more frantic. Scared like. Nothing he's ever heard before. He hears _one, two, three_ louder booms before the door finally gives way.

He hears them come through the room, their feet shifting through the debris. "L-Lucas?" He's trying to be as silent as he can, just hoping they'll eventually go away. It doesn't last long because the alcohol once again make its way back up his throat causing him to gag, and empty out the contents. The next thing he knows, he feels her soft, but small hand run it's way through his hair onto his back. Peyton gently kisses his head, rubbing gentle circles on his upper back. From the corner of his eye, Lucas sees Nathan standing awkwardly in the doorway, fear etching his brow. He shrugs off Peyton's hands, and he wraps himself around the toilet, trying to ease the pain in his stomach. "Get out." He mumbles into the porcelain.

"L-Lucas…W- What?"

"Please j-jus get out."

"Lucas I-we're just trying to help. J- Just please, please just let us help you." She's begging him now, making the pain come back. He can't handle it, can't handle her.

"I said get out!"

"Lucas." She sighs his name desperately, pleading for him to let her help.

"Nate, get her out! _Please_. Just…_please, _get her out of here." Lucas's once angered voice is now just one of defeat. He can't do it anymore. Keep hurting her. The pain he's been feeling all along is not 'hate'. No. It's worse.

It's guilt.

He can here her sobbing as Nathan lifts her up and takes her out of the room. He comes back moments later, noticing that Lucas passed out. Nathan lifts him up and onto the couch located in the corner of the room. Setting him down, he grabs a blanket from the armrest and lays it on his brother. He sighs and wipes one lone tear as it drips from his eye. He never wanted this for them. He goes out of the room, and offers the little comfort he can to Peyton, holding her in his arms as she cries. About an hour later she passes out, and he takes her to the bedroom. Leaving the couple alone to sleep off the pain, he makes his way out the door; giving a short phone call to Brooke telling her to keep the kids for the night, before making his way home to his own family.

Before Peyton awoke the next day, Lucas had gotten up early to fix the door and put a new lock on it. It was behind that door where he spent the next five days by himself, wallowing in self-pity.

But on the eighth day, he finally got the courage and walked out of the dark room into the kitchen to find Peyton making breakfast for the kids. She stopped instantly when she saw him. His eyes were rimmed with red, black, and blue circles from hours of crying and no sleep. His small amount of scuff she absolutely loved, was now a hairy mess upon his face. He still had on the clothes from nearly a week ago, but were now wrinkled and lined with visible sweat marks. He cleared his throat, looking at the ground; "The funeral is at three." He trailed off as his voice became too raspy. He didn't look back at his wife or kids, as he slowly made his way upstairs.

He began to rummage through his closet for a decent suit for such a horrid occasion. Black on black. He hates the color, but its what he would have to wear. He sets his suit on the bed, turning back around and heading towards the bathroom for a much-needed shower. The trip was cut short when he walked passed a mirror and caught his reflection. He leans against it, eyes casting over his appearance. From his tousled hair, to his gray, lifeless eyes, down to his chapped, skin peeled lips, to his fur covered chin. This is not the man he wants to be, to look like. But it's who he is, who he's become. The shadow of a man he once was.

He's too caught in his thoughts that he doesn't feel his wife slip her arms around his waist from behind, holding him as close as possible. What he does eventually feel is her warm, soft pink lips brush his right cheek. He closes his eyes at the touch; _god he's missed it._

"Hey…You wanna talk about it?" She asked as gently as she could, looking at him through the mirror.

He sighed. She doesn't deserve to be shut out. He knows it. She's been so good to him these past couple of days. Speaking through the door, whispering broken 'I Love You's', him all the while knowing it's killing her inside not being able to help him through this. He doesn't know what to say, so he simply shakes his head and moves out of her grasp.

"Lucas-"

"Don't. Just_ don't_." He turned back around to face her, holding his hand up to her. Lucas makes his way into the bathroom without another word.

When he comes out an hour later, he makes his way back downstairs. He notices Peyton standing by the counter making what looked to be like a sandwich. He runs his hands over his freshly shaven face before going to sit down at the table. He can hear the T.V. in the other room, and his children laugh softly. He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't hear the tiny footsteps behind him until a pair of small arms wrap around his neck.

He grabs her arm and brings her to sit on his lap. Sawyer Scott is every bit her mother. Right from her blond locks, to her green eyes, down to her chickeny legs. But her love of literature and basketball was all him.

"Hi daddy." She said innocently, looking at her hands.

Lucas took his finger and lifted up her face to look at him, "Hi princess." The little girl let out a small smile and engulfed him into a hug, burring her face in his neck, hugging her just as firm.

Peyton turned around and had to wipe a tear away at the site. She took the sandwich and put it in front of Lucas. He looked up at her with the most vulnerable expression, that it broke her heart into pieces (it seems that's been happening a lot lately).

Peyton cleared her throat, "You should eat," but he shook his head 'no' in return.

"Lucas-"

"Please daddy…?" the voice was muffled, but everyone heard it clearly. Sawyer took her head from its spot on his neck to look at him. "_Please_ eat." Tears began to make their way down Lucas' cheeks, Sawyer wiping them away one at a time with her hands.

"Okay…but only if you eat some too." Lucas watched on as Sawyer nodded. He kissed her on her forehead one last time before picking up half of the sandwich. Once he took a bite, he held it out to Sawyer. They continued that task for fifteen minutes in silence. Peyton was in the other room with Will and Anna watching T.V. Once they were done, Lucas lifted Sawyer up into his arms and into the living room, setting her onto the couch with Will and Peyton.

He turned to Will and noticed the fear in his eyes as he looked back at Lucas. He was Lucas' twin, as people would say; personality and looks all alike.

Will was up against Peyton in a protective stance. His eyes grew hard as he looked at his dad. Will had seen his mom cry with aunt Brooke to many times about Lucas, he was tired of it.

Lucas just ran his hands through Wills hair, before putting a kiss against his forehead. "I love you, son." Will didn't say anything in return, just buried himself deeper into Peyton's embrace. Lucas didn't even have the courage to look at Peyton, so he just went to sit behind Anna. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her into his lap. She giggled and without turning around said, "Daddy," playing with his fingers. She turned and looked up to him with a toothy grin, before getting up and giving him the biggest hug she could muster. She wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a big sloppy kiss.

The family was soon interrupted when Nathan came through the door. The kids each greeted him a hug, while Peyton shared a smile with him. Lucas didn't even look away from the T.V.

"Luke, can I talk to you for a second?" Nathan looked like he was a man on a mission when Lucas looked towards him. He could see anger in his eyes, but it didn't scare him. He thinks it should.

"Sure." Lucas walked out the door and Nathan stayed back to talk to Peyton.

"Keep the kids busy, and don't come outside." He said sternly.

"Nathan what's-"

"I'll explain later…" He mumbled as he turned and walked out the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Nathan seethed out.

"What are you-"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about Lucas." Lucas was about to say something, "The pills Luke, the damn pills." His tone was raw, and his eyes were full of fire.

"How'd you-"

"They were on your desk. How'd you get 'em Luke? Cause I know you couldn't get the vicodin, and the effexor? Where did you get that?"

Lucas set his jaw and put his arms around his midsection in defense. "You have no right to judge me here Nathan."

"_I have no right?_ You took the vicodin from my house Lucas. I know you did because I looked at the prescription. They're mine from two years ago when I threw my knee out." Nathan took steps toward Lucas. "And that effexor, that bottle was prescribed to you that day. You remember? That night you trashed your study and I had to carry Peyton outta there. Half of the bottle was gone Luke. Ten pills at least, in nine hours. Gone." Lucas was on the verge on punching him. He was right about almost all of it. "You almost overdosed…didn't you?"

Tears stung Lucas' eyes. "I just wanted the pain to stop."

"Your selfish Lucas. Your one hell of a selfish bastard. What if you had died? Did you ever think about that?" He gave Lucas a shove and Nathan saw the way Lucas' hands curled into fists. It was about time for him to feel something. "You didn't. Cause if you did, you wouldn't have took the pills Luke. You don't care about anyone but yourself-"

"Shut up Nathan…"

"You don't care about Haley, Jamie, Me, your mom, Lilly-"

"Shut up Nate…"

"And you sure as hell don't seem to care about your kids or Peyt-" Nathan was interrupted when Lucas' fist collided with his jaw.

"You shut the hell up about them. You have no idea what you're talking about you son-of-a-bitch, you have no fucking clue."

Rubbing his jaw, Nathan stood back upright, "I know more than you do. I know that when I had to take care of you that night, Peyton was crying so hard that there was nothing I could do to stop her. I know that you pulling away from her is probably going to end up killing her. I know that your kids miss you like crazy, and the only way William will fall asleep is when Peyton is next to him. He says that it's his job to protect everyone now, since you can't do it." Nathan pointed a finger at Lucas, "If you cared, you'd have known about this stuff."

Lucas knew he was right, but he wasn't going to admit it. He looked at Nathan one last time before getting into his car and drove away.

Lucas missed the funerals that day.

When he made it back home, it was well past 2 a.m. He had an unopened bottle of whiskey in one hand, using the other to push open the door. He saw Peyton on the couch sleeping, still in her knee-length black dress from the funeral. Lucas walked right past her into the study. He set the bottle on his desk digging through the drawers for the bottles of pills. When he found them, he took them into the bathroom and flushed them. He walked back to the desk, pulling out a glass for the whiskey. He paused for a moment, wondering if this was the right thing.

It's only one drink…It's only one drink…It's only one drink…

Right?

_**--…a couple months later…-- **_

"You're a dick." It's the first thing he hears as he enters the house that morning. He'd been out all night again, doing what he has been doing for the past four months. Drinking.

"Excuse me?" He feels his head pound, and her voice isn't really helping.

She starts pacing the living room, him still at the door. "I've kept my mouth shut for the past couple of weeks… and I- I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" He knows he's doing this on purpose, making things more difficult. He has too. It's the only way.

"Live being this paranoid! You leave at twelve o'clock in the morning when you think everyone is asleep, and you come back at seven so you can sneak back in unnoticed."

"Explain this to me Lucas. _Please_. My mind has been a whirlwind, thinking of every possible situation, and I can't take this anymore." She takes a moment to calm before walking over to Lucas, gently grabbing his face in between her hands. But something out of the corner of her eye catches her attention.

"Is- is that _lipstick_ on your collar?" And to top it off, his wife thinks he's cheating on her.

He looks down at the stain and grimaces, just at the thought of how it got there.

_*He has two choices here…he can either tell the truth and be an honest man. Or lie and be a coward.*_

"…Y-Yes."

_*Coward. I laugh at his stupidity. I saw him get into a bar fight last night. He was drunk, and angry, and basically started the whole brawl. The jacket he wore last night prevented the blood from getting on his undershirt, well…. most of the blood anyway…. *_

Peyton said nothing. She just stared into his dark blues intently, "You're lying." He bowed his head, "You may be a drunk, Lucas Scott, but I know you're not a cheater." She folds her arms across her chest and dares him to tell her she's wrong. He looks into her eyes, and knows he can't do it. He's been trying to be better. But it's always there for him, the alcohol. It gets him, and makes him feel better, even for just a short while. He'll take what he can get. But it's getting out of control. He knows it, but he doesn't want to stop. His family is falling apart at the seams and its all his fault. He's tired of being the one who always breaks things, and never fixes them. He makes a sudden decision right there, and he hopes it will fix everything.

Lucas runs his hands over his tired face before making his way up the stairs and into their bedroom. He hurriedly takes out a suitcase and begins packing all his clothes. He heard Peyton come in after him yelling a "What are you doing?!", "No, you can't leave me, you can't leave the kids!, and a few other things, but he doesn't hear her. She begins to take his clothes out of the suitcase, but he's faster. He zips up his suitcase and makes his way back downstairs to the door. Before he can get there, she runs forward and pushes him back as hard as she can from the door. She's sobbing, and it breaks his heart.

"Why don't you love me anymore! Is that it?" Lucas looked as though he'd been slapped. "Do you not want me anymore? Because- cause I know we haven't been ourselves in a while, you-we haven't even kissed in months probably…and- and I'm sorry, but we- we can be better. I know we can. Jus- please, please don't leave me."

All Lucas can do is shake his head. She doesn't get it, and he's not sure if he wants her to.

"Tell me you don't love me anymore…if that's it, then just tell me!" He looks between her and the door. He needs to get out before he changes his mind. He marches toward the door, but Peyton planted herself right in front of the exit. "Tell me and I'll… I'll let you go," she demands, choking on her last words. There are tears in her eyes that are threatening to escape, when one does, it takes everything in his power not to reach up and wipe it away.

"I-I love you more than anything in this world." He's got to tell her the truth, no matter how painful it is. "Don't you ever doubt that." He grabs her face in between his hands, forcing her to look at him. "I have to do this. If I don't…I'll be like this forever. It- It's not what you or the kids deserve. I need to leave to become me again."

"Why can't you do that here, with your family?"

"I can't keep dragging you down with me. I know it's killing you not being able to help me." A tear escapes his eyes, and she brushes it away with her thumb. "I won't let you or the kids see me like that again, ever. So I need to leave, now, before it gets worse. Before I get worse." He moves his hands down to her waist, and buries his face in her neck. He begins to lay feather-like kisses on her collarbone before whispering an, "I love you". He brings his lips across her forehead, before gently moving her from the doorway. He grabs his things and walks out the door without looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hellooo al! It's been too long. Just seeing whose going to be reading my next couple chapters, so I thought I'd give you a slight preview of what's to come:) Please review as always, thanksss!**

Lucas Scott had been driving for three and a half hours before he decided to stop at a rest stop just shy of the Greensboro. Grabbing the map that was in the glove box to the right of him, he gets out the car making sure to stretch before taking to many steps. Going to the front of the car, he unfolds the map and lays it down on the hood. Using his fingers to determine the mileage, he sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

_Not far enough._ He doesn't know why, but the distance is just making the pain worse. He wants a drink. Bad. Thinking of Peyton's face just before he left was almost too hard to bear. Lucas wouldn't call himself suicidal, but the only thought the whole way up was if he just ran into _that_ guardrail hard enough, it would take everything away; the pain; his, hers, everyone's. Felling his anger rise, he knows he needs to take a deep breath.

He marks Tree Hill with an 'X', over-lining the roads he took with the pencil in his pocket. Without thinking, he continues the path up into Virginia and marks a town. Hillsville. Putting another 'X' there, he reaches for his cell phone. "_Damn it,_" he curses. He forgot to grab it when he left.

Looking at the map one last time, he gets into the car and continues his two-hour drive up to Hillsville, Virginia.

* * *

Brooke Davis is one of many things. She's a fashion icon; she's smart, funny, brilliant, an amazing mother, aunt, wife, godmother, and most of all, she's a great friend. This is why she only watches as her best friend runs frantically around her house trying to find each and every bottle of alcohol her husband consumed in the past months.

She watches as Peyton brings armfuls of empty bottles into the kitchen, setting them harshly on the counter. Brooke's lost count as of how many there is, but it already filled the kitchen table and half the counter. She's been doing this for the last half hour since she came through the door and when Brooke asked what she was doing, Peyton stopped with a bottle in both hands and painfully whispered, "Lucas left…"

Now, Brooke just sits on the barstool watching Peyton cautiously knowing full well that she'll break when she's ready. Another good five minutes pass before Peyton brings in one more bottle. "I think that's it. I've checked every single room in this house, and I checked the basement, the garage, and his office at school. I- I think I got everything." She finally glances at Brooke as a tear runs down her cheek. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she brings the wastebasket over to the counter and pushes armful after armful of glass into it. They click and clatter as they break, and Brooke almost shields her ears to the noise. But she doesn't. She sits there, content on watching Peyton take another basket and get the ones off the table as well.

She only turns around when her best friend begins to whimper, slamming down the full basket on the floor. Peyton stands there with her hands on her hips, not willing to let the tears fall. "P. Sawyer…"

She shakes her head, "No," wiping away the tears that somehow managed to slip through her eyelids, "I should be angry…" He left her. She shouldn't be the one feeling the regret; it should be him. But as another tear falls she decides she's…. well, we doesn't really know. "Why am I not angry," turning around to her best friend with her hands still on her hips, "I should be angry at him…I-I've tried with him these past months and he-he leaves. I try to sit by him and he leaves." Wiping away the tears, "Why am I not angry Brooke?"

Brooke smiles sadly at her, wrapping her arms around her friends shoulders. "You love him." Peyton scoffs a little, "Even though you don't want to admit it, you love him. And even though it doesn't make what he did right, you were ready to forgive him- and deep down you'll probably be willing too if he walked in this door right now…"

"…But I don't want to want to…you know? After everything he's done to the kids and me…it just doesn't seem right."

* * *

"Hey…it's- it's me. I- I don't r-really know how l-long it's been b-ut it feels like f-forev-er. I think it's-umm..it's Monday or something, a-and I know it- its late – I'm s-sorry." Feeling his head grow heavier, he finds a log that's on the side of the road sitting down on it; he rests it on his hand. "I'm not really sure wh-what I'm doing calling y-you, Peyton…I left. Not you. I- I'm sorry." He looks around letting the dizziness consume him. The words he speaks come out in a mumble he's not sure even he can understand.

"I- I don't kn-know where I'm at right now…I-ve been sick, and I don't know w-what to do…you al-ways t-ake care of me and the k-ids when we're sick…I do-n't know what…to do. I've been clean for…what-ever days I've been g..one for. It's cold. It's really- r-really cold. I- I th-ink I'm gonna lay down…right- right here. Yeah. Sleep. It- It sounds really good." His head slips off his hand down to the ground, with his body soon following. He groans as the nausea starts up again, but he closes his eyes in hopes of it stopping. The phone was shut when he hit the ground, and he doesn't have the strength to open it and call for help. Gripping the grass above his head, he curls up into a ball trying to get it to stop. He thinks he sees his home phone number on the screen of the tracfone but he looses consciousness before he could grab the phone.

* * *

"Lucas? Wow….Hi!"

"Hey Brooke, you look good."

"Thanks. You look like hell." She said simply.

"Yeah." He self-consciously ran his hand through his hair. "How's…How's Peyton, how's the kids?" He wasn't sure if he had any right to know how anyone was at this point.

"Why don't you go ask them yourself?" Lucas bowed his head; apparently she was thinking the same thing. She sighed, "They could be better." Lucas nodded his head, of course they could be. Brooke pointed to the bag in his hand. "Is that…" she didn't want to finish that sentence for fear that she would be right.

"Yeah- yeah it is." He could see the look of sadness in her eyes for a split second, then anger in the next. He figured if he wanted to keep his head, he better start talking. "I haven't taken a sip of any alcohol since I left."

"Then why buy it?" her tone was accusing, she didn't believe him. He doesn't blame her.

"I don't know…habit, I guess." Brooke rolled her eyes at him, "Look Brooke, if you don't believe me, that's fine. But it's the truth; I wouldn't lie to you." Brooke shook her head, he didn't understand. "It was always just…something I could always fall back on. I had it if I needed the comfort."

"You should be getting that comfort from Peyton, or your family. Not from some cold hard bottle."

"I know that, I do. But my head was telling me I needed it. My heart's telling me that I need my family."

"Well, you always do listen to your head first. But for once, just listen to your heart. I guarantee it won't lead you wrong."

"Yeah. Thanks." Lucas took a look at the bag before handing it to Brooke. "Happy Thanksgiving, Brooke." He gave her a smile as he walked away. Brooke took another look in the bag and pulled out the two bottles of champagne. Both of them had a note attached to the necks. She pulled out the one with Nathan and Haley's name on it, while the other said to Brooke and Julian. Both were signed With Love, Lucas and Peyton.

By the time she looked back up, he was gone.

**Let me know how you think! (remember its not done, they're just bits of the next two chapters)**


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